


Sunshine Mornings/Stormy Nights

by wolfstarheart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Breakfast, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, bc it is, can u tell its gay, crosswords, it's literally all fluff, like a tiny bit tho??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4736294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfstarheart/pseuds/wolfstarheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco and Harry have something that's not quite perfect. It works, though. And they're still healing, but they're gonna be okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunshine Mornings/Stormy Nights

**Author's Note:**

> this is like the first time ive ever written fluff properly stop me !! but yeah i am a drarry trashcan ayyy 8))

Draco wakes up to light kisses, to the smell of omelets from the kitchen, to the tickle of an empty bed against the bare skin of his back. He wakes up to morning sunshine filtering through the blinds in small, hazy cracks, painting stripes over his eyelids and sprinkling dust specks everywhere the moment he moves his head.   
  
He wakes up to Harry, singing something that's quite obviously Muggle, but very catchy, and the smell of him is still on the covers. Draco breathes in deeply, inhales the sudden whiff of sea-breeze and weekend tea and sugar biscuits and Quidditch, and a smile is spreading across his face before he knows it.   
  
He doesn't stay in bed for long, though, and soon he's tugging a shirt on-- by its looseness and ugliness, he assumes it's Harry's, though this soon after waking up he's not exactly sure. Later, when he realizes that it's Cannons merch, he'll  _know_ it's Harry's, because for Merlin's sake, who even supports the worst team in the league apart from Weasley? But for now, he revels in the fact that Harry's scent is with him even after he's gotten out of bed.   
  
"Morning," he says, failing to stifle a yawn as he watches Harry from the doorway. The omelets look good, bright and yellow and crisp on the edges, and Harry sets the pan down as he turns towards Draco, grinning sheepishly.   
  
"This was supposed to be breakfast in bed," Harry says, going slightly pink.   
  
"We can go back to bed after this, if you want," Draco replies, winking-- at which Harry goes even redder, but he just laughs and begins to set the table, humming along to Harry's song as he does. 

"I didn't know you knew Green Day," Harry comments as they settle into a comfortable rhythm, the oil bubbling merrily at the stove.   
  
"I don't," Draco says, smiling slightly as their elbows brush when he approaches the counter to grab some cutlery. "They any good?"  
  
Harry laughs. "I'll show you sometime, if you want."  
  
"Mhmm." Harry goes back to singing, and Draco goes back to listening, a slow smile on his face as he catches the messy-haired boy air-guitaring while waiting for the omelets to cook. The windchime whistles slightly as a breeze gusts past, and Draco is suddenly consumed by the urge to kiss him. 

But then he realizes that he can, he can walk over and press his mouth to Harry's and run a hand through his stupidly-tangled hair whenever he wants to: and so he does, and Harry makes a muffled indignant noise against his mouth before kissing back harder; and when Draco steps back Harry's grinning wider.   
  
"The omelets could've burned," he says, but he doesn't sound a single bit reproachful as he goes back to the pan, and Draco just laughs and perches himself on a stool by the bar. He watches Harry, all dark skin and toned muscles and scabs down his forearms, and wonders how he ever managed to live eighteen years without this. 

Breakfast is ready soon, and Draco teases Harry about his liberal use of ketchup, and Harry teases Draco for cutting up his food into perfect little squares, and it's late morning by the time they're done: the wind's picked up, and rustles the blinds slightly as Harry sets both of their plates in the sink. Washing up is not something either of them is fond of, so they tend to do it at night together, and it usually escalates into water fights, which is something Draco can get behind, because  _that_ usually escalates into sex.

Now, though, they go back to the bedroom and curl up underneath the covers, hands intertwined as Harry idly fills in the crossword in the Prophet-- "Six letter word for 'terrifyingly bad Quidditch team'?" " _Cannons_ , Harry." "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Ron's going to be suing the Prophet today..."-- and Draco reads the paperback he'd bought at Flourish and Blotts the other day. Soon, though, he's rather bored of that, and instead presses kisses to Harry's neck, fingers darting tantalizingly against his skin as Draco smirks into his pillow. 

Harry lets out a moan. "Shut up," he grumbles, making a half-hearted attempt to move Draco away. "I'm doing the crossword."  
  
Draco peers at the three words he's managed to fill in. "You're obviously very distracted, then, aren't you?" A smirk spreads across his face as he resumes his ministrations, lips brushing softly against cool skin. 

Finally Harry, with a low growl, abandons his crossword and rolls over so he's now above Draco, and kisses him passionately, and Draco's breathing is ragged, and there are clouds and bright rays of sunshine behind his eyes, and it feels like there's a tornado within him. 

The eye of the storm is later, when they've cleaned up and Harry's gone to sort out something with the Ministry and Draco's still at home, and he wildly thinks, for a second, that his Mark is burning again, and he can't breathe for ten minutes after that. 

The eye of the storm is a week later, when he's exploring the attic of their little two floor cottage and comes across his father's old cane and suddenly his hands are shaking and he drops it to the floor with a loud clang that makes him flinch even more. 

The eye of the storm is two months later, on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and Draco doesn't leave his room. 

The eye of the storm is Harry, Harry coming back-- like he said he would-- and telling him that it's going to be okay, that Draco did some pretty awful things but so did everyone. Because this was a storm, this was a war, and people get hurt and blown into the wind like they mean nothing in the grand scheme of things, and they were all fucked up anyway. 

The eye of the storm is this little house, with their little kitchen and Harry cooking omelets and them dueting Green Day after Draco becomes hooked on American Idiot: it's the kisses during lunch, before Harry goes to the Ministry, every time Draco has to attend a family get-together, when they're watching romcoms on a Friday night. The eye of the storm is home, and Draco thinks he can ride this one out.

 

 


End file.
